


Punishment

by LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Caretaker Aziraphale, Crowley Whump, Friendship, Gen, Guilty Aziraphale, Hurt/Comfort, Painful Injuries, Punishment, gen - Freeform, major hurt crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24230071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: Crowley knows the consequences of what happens when you displease Hell. And yet he never expected them to show up in his own flat. When Crowley fails to show up to a meeting with Aziraphale the angel goes to investigate, but will he find Crowley whole?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 178
Collections: My faves - Good Omens Whump





	Punishment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kncdr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kncdr/gifts).



> A fic request from Kncdr: Hope you enjoy this one! ^_^

Crowley kicked the door to his flat closed behind him as he got inside, tossing his car keys carelessly onto the table beside the door. He smiled to himself, feeling like he had done a good day's work. He'd been on a roll lately, doing all kinds of things which he thought had worked out quite well. Even swapped a couple jobs with Aziraphale per their Arrangement.

Which is probably one of the reasons he didn't expect to see Hastur, Ligur and several other demons waiting for him, in his own flat, with dark expressions on their faces.

"Uh…hi, guys," Crowley said, stopping in the doorway to his living room, wondering whether he should try to make a run for it or not. "What's going on?"

"You tell us, Crowley," Hastur sneered.

"Our Satanic Master is not very pleased with you right now," Ligur said, with no small amount of pleasure in his voice to be the bearer of this news.

Crowley frowned. "Well, I'm obviously the last one to hear about it. What am I supposed to have done to upset his Satanic Majesty?"

Hastur snarled. "Don't play coy, Crowley. You know very well what you did."

"Mm…no, I don't think I do," Crowley replied. "Maybe you have the wrong demon. Now, if you would please just leave my house…"

The other demons accompanying Hastur and Ligur closed in on him and Crowley gulped, holding up his hands.

"Hey, let's talk."

"Yes, let's," Ligur said. "Let's talk. About what you have been up to, Crowley."

"Well, then tell me, because, frankly, I'm confused."

"You've been going too lightly on your marks. Our Lord Satan has begun to question your loyalty."

Crowley gulped again. Loyalty? What had he done to put that into question? Sure, he'd done mostly mass tempting, but these were the same things that had gotten him commendations in the past. He didn't see anything wrong with them. Unless…oh Heaven, he hoped they hadn't somehow found out about him and Aziraphale.

"And there's the matter of one of the marks you were assigned. Harold Smith."

"Harold Smith," Crowley muttered, actually not having the name ring a bell, until he remembered that that was one of the jobs he'd traded Aziraphale for since the angel had been working in the man's vicinity. "Oh, that one!"

"Yes, that one. Care to explain why you did what you did?" Hastur asked, folding his arms across his chest as he waited.

"Um…er…well…" Crowley began to sweat. He had no idea what Aziraphale had done; they hadn't had their planned meeting to talk about it yet.

"You got him caught by the police!"

"I did?" Crowley asked. "Well, it certainly wasn't my intention…"

"He was only working up to his first murder. You were supposed to help him on his way, not stop him in his tracks!"

Oh. Well, Crowley could see where Hell might take offence at that, but…well, he couldn't exactly be upset about this turn of events. Seemed to him like Aziraphale had handled the situation pretty well. "Look, guys, I can explain about that. And trust me, it may not look like much now, but it will…"

The demons who had been approaching him, neatly cut off his escape with Hastur and Ligur still in front of him. "Please, Crowley, begging is unfitting for you. Lord Satan has ordered you be punished for your oversight, and thus learn better next time."

"P-punished?" Crowley stuttered, fear nearly choking him now. This was going from bad to worse. He had to get out of here. He thought about his office where the holy water sat behind the sketch of the Mona Lisa. He didn't think he would be able to get to that, but he could make an attempt at least. "B-But, I can do better. I'll go do something right now! Some more wicked things. I can manage that, make up for this…oversight."

The demons grabbed hold of his arms, obviously anticipating his bolt for safety.

Hastur grinned nastily, obviously enjoying this situation way too much. "Oh, no, Crowley, that's not going to work. You must be taught a lesson. Take your punishment like a good soldier and promise to do better next time."

Crowley's knees weakened in fear. He knew that with Hastur and Ligur leading the proceedings, it wouldn't just be a little slap on the wrist. He'd seen the things they'd done to other demons; he'd even experienced it before, though not for a long time. Looked like his luck had just run up.

"Are…are we going back to Hell then?" Crowley asked, resigned to being interred on one of the racks in the Pit to suffer days of torment.

Hastur chuckled. "Oh, no, we're going to handle it here. Ourselves. No need to let anyone else steal our fun."

The demons who held Crowley, obviously just there for muscle, began to haul him over to a chair where Ligur was waiting with manacles. He still struggled, even though the other demons were far stronger than he was.

"Come on, guys, can't you just say you did and call it a day?" Crowley pleaded, getting desperate.

Ligur cracked his knuckles. "And forsake our duty? Lie to our Satanic master? That's what got you into trouble in the first place, Crowley. You should be grateful we're not making an example of you in front of everyone else."

Just the sight of Hastur standing by eagerly, practically licking his chops in anticipation gave Crowley a burst of adrenaline. He kicked one of the demons holding him in the knee and slammed his elbow back into another. It wasn't enough to bring them down, but it was enough to give him a chance at freedom. He dashed into his office, reaching for the combination lock—he was so desperate he didn't even think about the fact that he had no protective gear on to handle the holy water. At this point, if he could take even one of the demons out with it and have enough of an opening to make a run for it he would be happy.

But his fingers barely grazed the buttons before Ligur caught up to him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and hauling him backward so roughly, that the other demon threw Crowley to the ground.

"Just where do you think you're going?" he demanded, slamming a foot down on Crowley's chest.

Hastur and the other demons joined them. Hastur had lit a cigarette, and puffed on it a few minutes before he pulled it from between his lips and crouched down.

"And here I was going to go easy on you," he said, but there was a satisfied smirk on his face. "But that's off the table now, Crawly."

Crowley cringed as Hastur put the cigarette out on his cheek. The brief sharp pain was nothing, he was sure, compared to what was coming.

"Get him up," Hastur snapped.

Ligur moved aside and the two demon bruisers grabbed Crowley by the arms, hauling him to his feet. Hastur pulled a small club with iron nubs sticking out of it from his coat. It was a medieval looking thing and Crowley didn't like the prospects of it being used on him.

Hastur shoved the end of the club under his chin, tipping his head up.

"Remember this, Crawly. Don't cross Hell again, or you'll find yourself on a rack for the rest of eternity." He grinned, an oily, slippery look. "Cor, but I'm going to enjoy this."

"Been looking forward to it for a long time," Ligur said and Crowley saw he'd brought out some brass knuckles.

Crowley gulped and didn't get the chance to brace before he felt Hastur's club slam into his left knee. He cried out as pain shot down his leg and he would have collapsed except for the help he was getting from the demon bruisers, making sure he stayed upright.

Ligur followed that up with a heavy punch to his jaw, snapping Crowley's head back, and another that felt like it broke his nose. Crowley cried out, feeling blood drip down his chin and the back of his throat. Hastur reached out and grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"Remember this next time you think of doing anything but what Lord Satan asks. Looks like you're not the golden boy anymore." He slammed the club into Crowley's side, and the red-headed demon gasped, air escaping his lungs. He didn't have a moment to recover before Ligur slammed his brass knuckles into Crowley's stomach, forcing him off his feet for a brief moment. Crowley had never felt more like he wanted to throw up but he had little time to worry as now that Hastur and Ligur had gotten a taste of cruelty, they weren't about to stop any time soon.

Crowley stopped counting the blows, they were all just constant hurts piling on top of each other. He didn't notice much difference until one particularly vigorous blow from Hastur cracked several ribs. Crowley screamed, breathless, slumping further in the grip of the demons holding him. Hastur and Ligur didn't stop, simply laughed at his distressed cries, as Crowley felt like something was breaking inside of him.

He didn't realize the demons had let go of him until he felt his face hit the floor, sobbing for breath.

Hastur kicked him in the side, causing Crowley to cry out, as he rested his foot there and Ligur reached over to grab his hair again, forcing his head up

"Well, Crawly? Did you learn your lesson?"

Crowley could only gasp for breath. Hastur slammed his foot into Crowley's broken ribs and he felt agony stab through him. He gave a strangled scream that turned quickly into him choking on blood. It dribbled from his mouth as he fought to breathe. Something was wrong with his lungs.

"Well? Answer us!" Hastur snapped.

"Y-yes," Crowley whimpered, then squealed in pain as Hastur ground his foot even further into Crowley's ruined side.

"I didn't catch that!"

"Yes!" Crowley cried.

Hastur and Ligur finally released him and Crowley collapsed, wheezing as blood bubbled in the back of his throat.

"Remember that next time." Hastur laughed as he nodded to the other demons and they left the flat.

Crowley's fingers curled against the floor, trying to find some purchase, but he couldn't even think of moving, didn't want to. He glanced up briefly at the phone that sat on his desk across the room. Maybe he could call Aziraphale? But there was nothing the angel could do for him. He couldn't heal Crowley. No, he was on his own here. He would heal eventually, but it was going to be painful.

And he couldn't breathe without the sensation of drowning in blood. He was pretty sure that was a problem.

But he also didn't want to stay conscious any longer, so he allowed himself the luxury of passing out. Perhaps it would spare him for a few hours anyway…

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale was somewhat worried._ He checked his timepiece again, then tapped it, but it seemed to be keeping good time and he had just wound it—not that it ever kept anything but impeccable time anyway, even now. Still, he was worried.

He was supposed to have met with Crowley that morning to discuss their recent jobs per the Arrangement. But so far, he'd been waiting at the park for over five hours, and the demon still hadn't shown himself. That wasn't at all like him. Yes, sometimes Crowley wouldn't appear for a few decades but when they set a meeting, he always made it.

Unless he was afraid someone was following him. And that was what worried Aziraphale the most. The only reason he could see that Crowley wouldn't show up was that he was in trouble or that something terrible had happened. And yet, Aziraphale was sure that if that were the case, he would have gotten some sort of message to the angel.

He fretted, wringing his hands around the last piece of bread he had brought for the ducks and glanced around, wondering if he could spot his friend.

He did spy a phone booth, and decided that perhaps he should call Crowley's flat, see if, by chance, he had just forgotten.

He hurried over and dialed Crowley's number but only got the ansaphone. He called again, then left a message, just in case Crowley was out.

But still, something was bothering him about this. He knew it was probably not a good idea to go to the demon's flat, especially if there was the possibility of it being watched, but he was also positive that he wouldn't be able to rest if he didn't at least check up on his friend.

After all, perhaps it was nothing and Crowley would meet him with annoyance.

But if it _was_ something, then Aziraphale would never forgive himself if he didn't look into it as soon as possible.

So he called a cab and headed to Crowley's flat.

He rang the bell once he got to the door, then knocked for good measure. Still, he got no answer.

"Crowley? It's me," he said, then added, probably unnecessarily. "Er, Aziraphale."

There was still no answer. Crowley was probably out, and yet…

Aziraphale went to the window at the end of the hall and looked out at the street below. The Bentley was parked out there in its usual spot, gathering parking tickets. Of course, Crowley could have gone somewhere on foot, and yet, if that were indeed the case, why would Aziraphale feel so wary? He just couldn't seem the shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He turned back to Crowley's flat and knocked on the door again before reaching for the doorknob.

"Crowley, I'm coming in. I apologize in advance."

He opened the door, which was, oddly, unlocked and stepped inside.

The distinctive smell of hellfire and sulfur hit him, far too strong for Crowley's presence alone, especially since, as far as Aziraphale was aware, he hadn't been to Hell for a while.

Terror welled in the back of Aziraphale's throat, and he nearly backed out of the door again, but he steeled himself. If Crowley needed help…

He heard a faint sound coming from further in the flat, and Aziraphale cautiously strode forward, really hoping he wasn't going to walk into a bunch of demons.

But it turned out there was only one demon in the flat at this moment; the one who was supposed to be there in the first place.

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks when he entered the office and found Crowley. The demon was lying on the floor, shuddering, blood smearing the area around him.

Aziraphale was unable to help a cry of distress as he lurched forward the last few meters to kneel beside his friend.

"Oh, dear Heavens," he gasped, hands hovering, afraid of even touching Crowley. He currently couldn't even see where all the blood was coming from, though Crowley's face looked like it had been slammed repeatedly into the floor. His back shuddered with labored breaths that wheezed disturbingly.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale decided on gently stroking Crowley's hair to offer at least some comfort while he figured out what he was going to do.

Crowley let out a soft whimper and his eyes blinked open, their usual golden hue dulled by immense pain.

"Az—zira…" Crowley tried, shifting slightly, before his already labored breathing hitched and a terrible gagging cough burst from his throat, blood spattering onto the floor, from between his lips. Crowley curled into himself, keening.

"Oh my dear," Aziraphale whispered, gently touching Crowley's shoulder to try and offer some comfort, horrified at the demon's condition. "Is it your ribs?"

Crowley panted, each breath a wheeze, but he gave a jerky nod. Aziraphale had no idea what he was going to do. He couldn't heal Crowley, but he had to do something for the demon who was obviously suffering. He couldn't stand to see his friend hurt.

"Crowley, I'm going to have to look at it, okay? Can I roll you onto your back?"

"N-no," Crowley moaned, curling up tighter, but that only seemed to cause more pain.

"Crowley, I need to help you," Aziraphale pleaded. "Please allow me to do so."

Crowley still shuddered, but didn't protest. He relaxed slightly, eyes shut and Aziraphale reached out and gently rolled Crowley onto his back.

The demon groaned at even that movement and Aziraphale hated himself even more as he reached out to unbutton the demon's shirt.

"Just stay still, dear. I'll take a look."

He wanted to either cry or vomit upon seeing what Crowley's clothes had been hiding. His stomach and chest were covered in horrible bruises, obviously telling of internal bleeding—if Crowley had been human, he probably wouldn't be alive right now, depending on how long he had been here like this, and—oh, Heavens, how long _had_ Crowley been lying here? Aziraphale didn't want to think about it. As it was, he might not be in danger of discorperating from this, but he was definitely in unbearable agony.

And the bruises weren't the worst part, it turned out. The whole of Crowley's left ribcage, was misshapen, obviously broken, and swollen grotesquely. Aziraphale bit his lip nearly to bleeding upon seeing the damage. Crowley was choking on small gasps of air, and Aziraphale knew he had to do something in order to relieve some of Crowley's pain. If he couldn't heal Crowley with a miracle, then he would do it in a slower, more natural way.

He really didn't want to do this, but he knew it would mean less pain for Crowley in the future.

"Crowley, I'm going to…I'm going to try to set the ribs."

Crowley's eyes popped wide. "N-no…will heal…" But even as he tried to get the words out, another horrid cough burst from him and he cried out breathlessly in pain.

Aziraphale reached down to touch his bruised cheek gently. "My dear, it will help you heal faster in the long run. I know it won't be pleasant, but please allow me to do this."

Crowley whimpered.

"Do you trust me?" Aziraphale asked suddenly.

Crowley's eyes met his, staring for a long time before he gave a very small nod.

Aziraphale nodded back, ran his fingers through Crowley's hair gently, then turned back to his injuries, assessing the best way to do this.

He knew quite a bit about generic first aid considering he had spent a lot of time in hospitals, and on battle fronts during his time on earth. He was actually quite capable of fixing humans naturally, if he for some reason couldn't with miracles. Hopefully this would be no different. He just couldn't do anything to dull Crowley's pain.

"All right," he said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Just hold on, dear."

He gently moved his hands to rest on Crowley's side. Luckily, he could use his powers to manipulate the bones, even if he couldn't actually _heal_ Crowley he could still do what humans could achieve with only surgery quite a lot easier.

It still was not easy for Crowley. As soon as Aziraphale began to shift the ribs back into their original position so that they could heal easier, Crowley began to scream, one of his hands coming up and clawing at Aziraphale.

The angel tried to act as quickly as he could, but there was no way he could accomplish this painlessly. Crowley writhed under his ministrations until he simply went limp, the pain obviously too much.

Aziraphale swallowed hard as he finished the procedure, happy to see at least that Crowley's side was a more normal shape now. Even though he was white as a sheet. Aziraphale needed to get him somewhere more comfortable than the floor and so, gently, he picked Crowley up and carried him into the bedroom, laying him just as gently on the bed, careful to shift him as little as he could.

Crowley whimpered again and his face scrunched in agony as Aziraphale adjusted the pillows and blankets. Crowley was still covered in blood though and the angel hurried into the bathroom to grab some wet cloths, coming back to begin to clean Crowley's face. He performed a small miracle afterward to put Crowley into soft pajamas, then tucked a blanket lightly around him.

He still had no idea what had happened, but Crowley needed to rest some before Aziraphale was willing to push him.

Resigned, Aziraphale, left the demon resting for a few moments as he went back to the study and swallowed hard, sickened by the sight of the blood still on the floor. Quickly, he snapped his fingers to clean it up, knowing he would never be able to do it by hand without nausea overcoming him. He looked around his surroundings. What had happened to his dear friend? Aziraphale almost dreaded the answer.

He went to the pristine, unused kitchen in Crowley's flat, and, perhaps because he wished them to be, he found ice packs in the freezer. He pulled them out and wrapped them in tea towels, then went back to Crowley's room.

The demon's breathing had improved only marginally, but at least there was that. Aziraphale pulled the blanket aside and pressed the ice packs against Crowley's ribs and stomach, hoping to reduce some of the swelling.

Crowley shifted and groaned at this development.

"Ngk…Angel," Crowley protested, moving slightly in discomfort before even that sent agony through him.

"Shh, it will help with the pain," Aziraphale told him, sitting on the side of the bed and squeezing Crowley's shoulder. "Just wait a little while."

Crowley's face scrunched up, eyes closed. Aziraphale patted his shoulder gently.

"Crowley, dear, what happened?" he had to ask, unable to help himself any longer.

Crowley's eyes opened halfway and stared at the angel, thin lips pressing together before he spoke. "Hastur and Ligur came. Didn't like what I did. So…" He trailed off, but the rest was self-explanatory.

Aziraphale sat back, frowning. "But I thought you were on good standing with Hell? All those commendations…"

"Thought so too," Crowley whispered, tiredly closing his eyes. "Guess they just weren't happy with me."

Aziraphale's frown deepened. He could tell that Crowley was hiding something, but why? Was he afraid of what Aziraphale would think? That he wouldn't like what Crowley had done? But if it had displeased Hell, then certainly it wouldn't displease Aziraphale. Unless…

Oh. Aziraphale felt cold at the sudden thought. He turned to Crowley, swallowing dryly.

"My dear…this wouldn't have had something to do with the job I took on for you…would it?" he asked hesitantly.

Crowley shook his head, but wouldn't look at Aziraphale. "Don't worry about it, angel."

Aziraphale felt something in his chest rip. "It was about that man, wasn't it? The budding killer. I planted clues for the police to find before it got out of hand; I—"

"You did the right thing," Crowley cut in weakly. "Angel, I would have found a way to do the same, you know I would never let someone like that—" He wheezed, chest hitching with pained breaths as he fought the urge to cough. Aziraphale rubbed his arm through the blanket, helpless to do anything else.

"I should have thought though…I just never expected…" Aziraphale couldn't finish, horror making his chest feel like it was going to explode. He could have thought of some other way to handle the situation that would have looked less like Crowley had disobeyed orders. He just hadn't been thinking of anything but saving lives. And yet, it had cost his dear friend greatly. He wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself for this.

"Angel," Crowley breathed and Aziraphale felt the demon's cold hand snake out of the blankets and curl over top of his. "This is on Hell. Not you. Please don't blame yourself."

"I'm not sure I can promise that, Crowley; seeing you like this, and knowing that…that _I…"_

Crowley shook his head slightly. "Please don't. This would have been unavoidable eventually anyway. And it's not like it's the first time."

Aziraphale shot a quick look toward the demon at this news. It was certainly the first _he_ was hearing that. But then, it was Hell, he supposed, and punishment was kind of their thing. It wasn't like Heaven was much more lenient. Still, he hadn't known that Crowley…

But he couldn't push the demon to go into detail now. Crowley was obviously exhausted and in pain. Instead, he simply wrapped the demon's hand in his warm, plump one and held on tightly, feeling Crowley squeeze back, weakly.

"I'm so sorry, my dear," he whispered. "Please try to rest."

Crowley's eyes were already falling closed again anyway. His breathing coming in light, labored pants from between his slightly parted lips. Aziraphale again felt grief and now guilt wash over him as he took in his friend. Crowley was so pale, his hair shockingly bright against his skin and the bruises on his face ghastly. But Aziraphale didn't move and he didn't let go of Crowley's hand. The only thing he could do for his friend right now was stay with him, get him through the worst of his recovery, and hope this never happened again.

_~~~~~~~_

_Crowley was only able_ to sleep for a bit, restlessly, with every movement causing his body to ache, before he just couldn't anymore. The ice packs had helped dull the pain at first, but now it just felt like he was being burned across his side and stomach every time he took a breath.

A moan escaped his throat, and he felt a hand that was wrapped around his squeeze comfortingly.

"Crowley? How are you doing?"

Crowley opened his eyes and saw Aziraphale sitting by his bedside, still holding his hand, a worried expression on his face. Crowley cringed, trying to shift into a more comfortable position but there didn't seem to be one.

"Ngk," he grunted, not having the strength to be more articulate. "Hurts."

Aziraphale's face crumpled before he seemed to pull himself together. "Is there anything I can do?"

Crowley closed his eyes, just trying to concentrate on breathing without causing himself extra pain. Hastur and Ligur had really done a good job teaching him a lesson he wouldn't forget any time soon. He wouldn't be getting out of _bed_ any time soon, let alone forgetting what put him there.

But his throat was dry and he still had the nasty metallic aftertaste of the blood he had coughed up earlier in his mouth. The one good thing was that he felt like his lungs had repaired at least a little bit, and his breathing wasn't as wheezy, but it didn't hurt any less.

"Can…water?" he asked the angel.

"Oh, of course. Just a moment," Aziraphale said quickly and stood, heading to the bathroom to fetch a cup of water. When he came back he looked between it and Crowley before setting it on the side table.

"I'll prop you up," he said. "It might help your ribs anyway."

Crowley nodded tiredly and tried to stay as still as possible as Aziraphale ever so gently slipped an arm behind his shoulders and pulled him upright, miracling several more pillows behind his back as he settled Crowley back down. Crowley cringed in pain from the movement, but as soon as he settled, he actually felt the pain lessen, the position putting less pressure on his ribs.

"Better?" Aziraphale asked, obviously hearing a change in his breathing.

Crowley nodded and allowed Aziraphale to bring the glass of water to his lips, too tired to protest his helplessness. The water felt amazing going down his throat, but he got too over eager and gulped too much at once, causing him to choke.

The cough burst from his throat and he spit half the water across the blankets, doubling over as agony tore through him.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cried, hurriedly setting the cup aside as he braced the demon, arms wrapped almost protectively around his shoulders. Crowley rested against Aziraphale's chest as he caught his breath, swallowing down a metallic lump trapped in his throat.

"Oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry," Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley shuddered. He didn't know what to say. He hated that he had even mentioned what had happened. He didn't want the angel to think this was his fault. It was Crowley's fault for giving him that job to begin with. He just hadn't been paying attention. But in reality, he knew that he would have handled the situation pretty much the same anyway, and the result probably would have been the same. If not now, then sometime in the near future. Like he'd told Aziraphale earlier, it hadn't been the first time and he wasn't stupid enough to think it wouldn't be the last.

"Please…don't blame yourself," Crowley choked out, resting his head tiredly against Aziraphale's shoulder.

"How can I not, Crowley?"

"Because I'm telling you not to," Crowley growled weakly, looking up to meet Aziraphale's eyes with as stern a look as he could muster. "Seriously. Drop it. You're here so I don't have to go through this alone. That's all I care about."

Aziraphale's eyes looked bright for a moment before he blinked the wetness away and cleared his throat. "I'm still sorry. I hate to see you in such pain, dear boy."

Crowley would have felt even worse if this had happened to the angel, but he didn't say that. Instead he just sighed and closed his eyes again. "I'll get better. Can I have the ice pack again?"

"Of course."

Aziraphale gently extricated himself from Crowley and went to retrieve it. Crowley gave a small grateful smile as Aziraphale reached under the blankets and pressed the ice packs to his middle.

"Do you want me to leave you to rest or…?" Aziraphale hesitated.

Crowley had one arm wrapped around the ice packs, pressing them against his aching midriff, but he reached his other hand out and grabbed Aziraphale's. "Stay," was all he said. "Maybe you can…read to me? Pass the time. Can't sleep right now."

Aziraphale's face softened and he sat down in the chair beside Crowley's bed again, snapping his fingers so that a book appeared in his lap. "Oh, well, certainly, my dear. I have just the thing. I think you'll like this one…."

Crowley closed his eyes, concentrating on the coolness seeping through his ribs and Aziraphale's voice, lulling him into a sense of security. Even if it had technically been partly because of Aziraphale that he had been punished, Crowley found that he didn't really care at the moment. He still had his friend here looking after him and it could have gone far worse. He realized he would go through anything if it meant not losing the only friend he'd ever had.

Aziraphale read to him for hours as Crowley felt his body begin to repair itself, until finally he could breathe more deeply without a lot of pain, no longer needing the ice packs to dull the agony. His bruises were fading and he could relax more, in body and mind.

He closed his eyes and finally began to drift off to Aziraphale's comforting voice, knowing that he would be safe under the careful watch of his friend.


End file.
